The Boy before the Spider
by RosyThorn
Summary: Spider-man follows his spider-sense into danger because he's an idiot, and ends up in a world of trouble. The Avenger's come to the rescue, but end up with more to deal with than they bargained for.


**Hey, for those who care, this is primarily based on the comics, with maybe a slight flavor of influince from the movies. (And that's only cuz I dont usually read Avengers comics... Just Spider-man.)**

* * *

Spider-Man's nose itched, right on the tip where his mask pressed against it. He tried wiggling his nose against the mask, but the stretchy fabric annoyingly moved with it. Also, his hands and feet were starting to go numb from loss of circulation. The straps of an unknown metal that held him down were much too tight and dug into his wrists, chest, pelvis, and ankles. Even his head was strapped down. Can you say paranoid? 'Held him up' would be a better description, because he was currently securely pinned to the ceiling of a large underground, high tech lab that he had broken into. The ceiling had to be at least three stories up. The large space had been thoroughly cleaned and set up with more lab equipment than Spider-Man knew the doc could afford. Computer monitors lined the south wall, all displaying graphs of energy and copious amounts of data that hardly made any sense.

Normally, Spider-Man would complain loudly to his captor about the restraints being too tight and of the other discomforts he suffered, but Doc Ock had not been in the mood for puns and gagged him as soon as the Doc had him incapacitated.

So now, he silently watched the doctor excitedly scramble around the lab, ooh-ing and ah-ing over readings and data he was getting from something behind a large, heavy duty, metal door. Whatever it was, it had been causing Spider-man's spider-sense to ever so slightly tingle nonstop for days. He finally gave in and followed it to the source and lo and behold, who should he find but the missing institutional patient/escapee? Otto had hired an impressive defense lawyer that convinced the judge and jury that poor Dr. Octavius was mentally ill and just needed help. Spider-man could agree with half of that. Scratch that, he agreed with all of it except the "just" part. He needed a lot more than "just help", like a high security prison, lots and lots of drugs, and maybe a puppy.

Spider-man heaved a sigh. They obviously hadn't given him enough drugs, or anything with the word "secure" in it.

"Comfortable?" Doc Ock's voice cut through Spider-man's musings.

The man stood directly beneath him, grinning maniacally.

Spider-Man huffed and rolled his eyes beneath the mask; that was probably the most cliché thing he could have said.

Doc Ock chuckled as his metal arms gradually raised him up into the spidey bubble of personal space.

"It hardly matters. But I did make this containment device for you. You see, you always manage to show up during the most crucial points in my research. I knew the chances of you interfering were high, so I planned for it." He tapped the strap across Spider-Man's chest with one of his stubby knuckles. "The cuffs are a special alloying metal of my own invention, very similar to the metal I used for my arms. The cuffs are stronger of course, much more durable, because weight wasn't an issue to consider. As for why you are on the ceiling, well, it kept you out of the way and… you seem to prefer it up here," he mocked snidely.

Spider-Man blinked and blinked again; did Otto really strap him to the ceiling to make fun of him? That was like, high schooler level pranking (bullying). A new low for him, in Spidey's book. He suddenly stiffened when his spider-sense buzzed and he felt the unmistakable cold tip of a knife touch his stomach. He couldn't see it as he couldn't move his head, but the way Doc Ock grinned at him with his two flesh arms folded smugly across his chest, he knew that it was one of the metal appendages a breath away from gutting him.

"I could do the world a favor and kill you now… But I wont."

The knife disappeared, but the buzzing in the base of his skull never stopped.

"Because… Because! Oh, you wont believe it, Spider-Man! My original plan failed, but what has came about through failure is just as fascinating! The best part is that I have no idea what it is!" The scientist seemed to lose his breath in excitement. "I had been attempting to create portal through time-"

The mad scientist rambled on and on about his calculations, his own genius, and other things. Spider-man only listened enough to pick up on that Otto had stollen the research from Reed Richards, the portal is self sustaining, and that Otto was a crack pot. Spider-man tuned back in as the villain actually got around to saying what exactly was going on.

"-Instead of leading to the past like I expected it to, the objects I put in reemerge younger than before. Thirteen point five years, to be exact. Anything that didn't exist thirteen point five years ago comes out as ash. Interesting isn't it? There are so many irregularities too! Such as, such as, damage! I broke the leg of an old chair and sent it through, and it came back new, but the leg was still broken. There are so many questions that this failure as brought up. Questions I am determined to answer or at least explore."

Though Spider-Man could not say he wasn't fascinated or interested in what Dr. Octavius was saying, he still definitely did not like where it was going. He desperately pressed against the bonds and Doc Ock chuckled.

"Have you figured out why you're still alive? Yes, I suppose you have. You have always been such an intellectual man, despite the façade you put on. You are going to be the first living creature to step through it, you should be exited. I know I am."

The dull tingle in the base of his scull suddenly blared and in a quick flash of movement one of the metal arms stabbed something long and sharp through his arm. The gag muffled an involuntary cry of pain, and a second one as the arm retracted. Blood dripped and splattered on immaculate pavement below.

"Puncture wound through the left bicep, 25.4 mm wide, clean through. That should suffice," the scientist mumbled seemingly to himself. "And this is to keep you from squirming."

Doc Ock pulled out a needle from his lab coat, and gave it a test squirt. His chubby and rather warm fingers gently pressed against Spider-Man's neck to guid the needle carefully in. Spider-Man couldn't do anything to prevent the needle from puncturing his skin. Feeling the small prick, it dawned on Spider-Man how truly screwed he was. If the time portal didn't kill him, Doc Ock surely would. He wouldn't have much of a problem doing it either, if it did what the crazy octopus said it does.

Eighteen. He was only eighteen. In the moment, that felt very very young.

Before Doc Ock had finished injecting the drug, a red, white, and blue blur crashed into the Doc's extended arm, effectively breaking it with a distinct crunch. The blur bounced off his arm and shot back to the doorway, where the one and only Captain America caught it with the grace and majesty of a knight in shining armor. As Doc Ock fell back and howled in a pained rage, Spider-Man enthusiastically waved down at his savior the best he could with his wrist locked in place.

"HO-HOW DID YOU GET IN HERE!? THERE WERE- THERE WERE ALARMS SET IN PLACE!" Doc Ock screeched.

"The security systems were a piece of cake, really," Iron Man answered as he emerged, with Black Widow and Hawkeye right behind him. He placed his hands on his hips and addressed the Captain in mock condescension, "you know Cap, you really shouldn't rush of ahead of the team."

"You said Spider-Man was being stabbed." The explanation came with a high degree of irritation.

"Well-"

"Stark." Doc Ock snarled, cradling his injured arm.

"Yes, and you are?"

Doc Ock screamed in frustration and swung his arms at the intruders.

"Please, don't antagonize him, Stark," Black Widow requested as she rolled away from the attack.

"Iron Man, you get Spider-Man and locate the time portal while the rest of us keep the doctor busy." The Captain threw his shield directly at Doc Ock's head, only for it to be swatted away by a metal arm.

"Roger, Captain."

Iron Man took off, narrowly dodging a flailing arm.

"Hey Spidey, how've you been? Comfortable?"

Spider-Man huffed out a sigh.

"Right. Well, I can't cut through the bonds without burning you, so I-"

A flying office chair shot past, nearly hitting the billionaire.

"-am going to 'pick the lock'."

Somehow, Spider-Man really didn't like how he said that.

From down below, Doc Ock cried, "You are destroying my research! You fools don't understand what you're doing!"

"Um, I'm pretty sure we're destroying your research," Hawkeye responded. A harsh grunt and thump immediately followed.

"NO! You leave the arachnid be!"

A metal claw grabbed Iron Man by the ankle and threw him across the room. With Iron Man out of the way, Spider-Man could see that Black Widow had managed to sneak up on Doc Ock and put him in a choke hold. But before she could taser him, one of his metal arms whacked her off and only just managed to block Captain's shield.

"Hawkeye!" Iron Man called from the other end of the room. "Hit that button and it should release Spider-Man!"

"Got it!"

"Don't worry, Spidey, I'll…"

Flying up underneath Spider-Man, Iron Man stretched out his arms. The bonds released with a hiss and Spider-Man sagged with relief, but didn't fall.

"…Catch you…Um, right." The billionaire paused. "So, do you know where this 'time portal' is?"

Spider-Man pointedly tugged at the metal muzzle on his face.

"No time." Iron Man's voice proved that he was grinning like the Cheshire Cat under the helmet. "Is the portal behind the big 'no touchy' doors over there? I'm going to say that yes, yes it is. So, you stay out of the way and let the professionals handle this, alright?"

With that, he zoomed off, leaving a flabbergasted and mute Spider-Man behind. But after noticing the rest of the team's struggle against the mad scientist with eight limbs, Spider-Man swore that Tony Stark would regret his actions, then quickly moved on to help. He jumped off the ceiling and bee lined it for the grumpy octopus, with the hopes that his intentions were obvious enough to get some support from the others. He knew that with the speed and force the docs arms worked with that he, with the help of his spider-sense and enhanced reflexes, would have the highest chance of success at getting past them even though his arm was injured and he did not currently have working web shooters. To Spider-Man's dismay, didn't take long for Doc Ock to notice the fast approaching threat.

In a red and blue blur, Spider-Man jumped and twisted out of the way of the arms' attempts to skewer him, quickly gaining ground. Three of the arms repeatedly attacked, desperately trying to keep him back, while the fourth arm acted as an anchor and the last line of defense. Spider-Man had his full attention. This changed the game plan, he would play the distraction instead.

"I SWEAR YOU WILL NOT MAKE IT OUT OF HERE ALIVE, ARACHNID! YOU DO NOT UNDERSTAND THE MONUMENTAL BREAK THROUGHS I COULD HAVE ACHIEVED. I-"

Three things happened almost simultaneously; the first being the giant metal doors swooshing open and faint robotic cry of victory, the second: a taser arrow nailing Octavius between the shoulder blades, and a sudden wave of dizziness and lethargy that hit Spider-Man out of nowhere.

Both the scientist and Spider-Man collapsed onto the ground.

"Iron Man, secure the doctors arms before he comes to," Captain America ordered, "Hawkeye, see if you can get the fire out and keep it from spreading to those chemicals. Black Widow, see what you can get off of the computers, and make sure we didn't damage anything to make this unstable. Iron man, help Black Widow once you are done."

Spider-Man heard the others reply, but it sounded so murky, he wasn't sure what they had said. His vision swam and he wondered how long he would have to wait this out.

"-an you hear me? Nod if you can."

He rolled his head in the direction of the voice and found the Captain himself kneeling next to him. He obediently bobbed his head, making the whole room tilt and rotate for a second.

"I'm going to see if I can get this thing off of you, alright?"

He only twitched his head up and down this time, hoping to avoid another round of vertigo.

After finding a firm hold on the muzzle, Captain America gave it one sharp tug and snapped in two.

"You'rrre suprr ssrong... nnd a bedder frrind thnn Irrn Mnn."

The war hero didn't laugh or smile, he just scrunched his eyebrows and asked, "Are you alright, Spider-Man?"

"Dizzzy. Injectnn. Octooo…psss."

"Uh, I'm not understanding you."

"Octavius injected him with a sedative," Black Widow confidently interpreted from the computer she hunched over. "Here. Make him swallow one of these."

The captain caught the little silver container that sailed across the room.

"What is it?" He questioned.

"An antidote of sorts."

"And you know and are carrying what he needs because…?" He asked her, pulling a small white pill from the container.

"Don't question it, Cap. She's always carrying drugs and poisons."

Natasha ignored Clint and explained herself, "I know what to give him because there are only a handful of drugs that are strong enough to affect someone with his metabolism, assuming that it is similar to yours, and that has such a delayed, yet sudden effect. There are even fewer that are administered through injection, and only one that Octavius would have easy access to."

Spider-Man clumsily took the pill the captain had been inspecting, pulled up his mask, and popped it into his mouth.

"As for why I have it on me... I was just covering all of my bases and, well, I couldn't have the possibility of my super soldier being drugged go unprepared for."

"Your super soldier? I'm fairly sure he belongs to the assisted living nurse that stops by on Wednesdays." Tony walked up and stood over the two heroes on the floor.

"Rogers is seeing someone? I had no idea."

"I'm not seeing anyone. Mrs. Colins is a house maid," Steve stated the facts, thoroughly done with the conversation.

"She's married? Steven Rogers, you naughty boy."

"Stark." Captain warned. "Save the banter for after the mission. You still have work to do. Is Dr. Octavius secured?"

"Yes, basically welded the guys arms together, and I am working. Jarvis is scanning the computers and showing me the important stuff. I've gotta say though, I'm not understanding half of this."

"I don't think Octavius understood half of it." Spider-Man slowly sat up with a groan. Captain America offered a hand to help him to his feet, which he gladly took even though he probably didn't need it. "He was just following the instructions of a brain fart Dr. Reed Richards had written down after getting drunk. Reed said that his time travel theories had gone missing from his computer, Reed assumed that he had accidentally deleted them because, you know, for a genius he can be an idiot."

Now standing, he could finally see the source of his brain alarms' issue, and he was liking it even less. Two strange, unpolished machines sat on the ceiling and the floor parallel to each other, both hexagon in their over all shape. A giant sphere of swirling silver, grey, and white light hovered between the two machines. Ash covered the ground around it and the colors of the orb seemed to be a distortion of the room around it, but Spider-Man could be wrong about that. But Spider-Man didn't like the distinct feeling of instability it radiated.

"You're on a first name bases with Mr. Fantastic?" Iron Man lifted his face plate to show his astonishment.

"Uh, yeah. We're totally pals." Spider-Man stuck his chin into the air, and then quickly changed the subject. "Hey Black Widow, can I keep some of those pills? They're amazi-"

"No."

He dropped his shoulders in disappointment. The pill hadn't completely counteracted the sedative just yet, but the fast improvement was remarkable.

"So," Clint started as he walked up to the group, "we just need to get Mr. Fantastic down here to shut it down, right?"

"The fantastic four are off planet right now," Spider-Man informed.

Clint stared at him like he had grown another limb. "You say that like they're out of state on vacation or something…"

Spider-Man shrugged helplessly.

"What can you make of it, Stark?" Captain America asked with his arms crossed, visual inspecting the machine in question.

"Well, just cutting the power is a bad idea. I can tell you that much."

Stark scooped up a chunk of concrete and tossed it into the sphere.

"What do you think you are doing!?"

"Calm down, Cap. Doc Ock was doing this for hours before we showed up. I just wanted to see it for myself."

They all paused and watched the sphere. After a few seconds the chunk of concrete launched back out of the sphere from the same spot it entered, traveling at the same velocity, headed right back at Iron Man. He easily caught the projectile and examined it.

"It looks exactly the same."

"I don't think concrete changes much as it ages," Hawkeye pointed out.

"Hey guys," Spider-Man interjected with urgency, "there's somethi-"

He was interrupted by sound of metal snapping metal.

"IMBECILES!"

Spider-Man tried to dodge the four fingered claw aiming for his head, but with his head still slightly foggy from the sedative, he failed miserably. The metal arm slammed him into the ground, knocking the breath out of him. The claw then lifted him up into the air.

"Iron Man, Doc Ock doesn't look very secured right now!" Hawkeye's voice accused.

"He was a second ago!"

"It's like watching a bunch of children poking a dead animal with stick! You will never hope to understand my creation!"

Spider-Man yanked and pulled at the claw squeezing his head and he could feel it starting to give way. The mad scientist must have felt it too, because he suddenly tossed him. It hardly took a second for Spider-Man to realize what he was hurtling towards and attempted to shoot a web to put a halt to that disaster, only to remember his web shooters were busted. At this moment he changed his mind; he hoped Doc Ock never saw another puppy in his life.

The small yelp Spider-Man gave as he vanished into the sphere seemed to grab everyone's attention and halted the fight.

After a beat of uneasy silence a cloud of ash spilled out of the sphere, followed by a small, sooty figure flying across the room. Captain America easily jumped up an caught the figure and landed with a light roll, arms protectively rapped around it.

Everyone stood stock still when a mop of chocolate brown hair and big brown doe eyes looked around the room curiously. The naked, grubby boy's gaze fell on the man holding him when his face twisted into pain and he emitted a small whine. Captain America stopped the little hand reaching for his hurt arm. The boy, Spider-Man, began to cry once he looked down at the blood dripping from his arm.

"A CHILD?! The annoyance that cost me my freedom, my reputation has been a TEENAGER THIS WHOLE TIME?! IMPOSSIBLE!" Screeching in rage, Doc Ock launched himself at the weeping child, who screamed louder in fear.

Before Doc Ock was within reach, Black Widow threw a small needle into Octavious' neck and the scientist crumpled to the ground for the second time.

"He should be out for a few hours," she informed.

"Thirteen and a half years is what he said right? Thirteen and a half? And he's like what, two now?! That makes Spider-Man fifteen!" Tony wildly gestured towards the wailing kid in the lap of an incredibly lost looking Captain America.

"Don't be ridiculous, Tony." Clint strolled over to the two on the floor. "He's at least five. So he was around eighteen, maybe nineteen."

He ignored Tony's rebuttals and rant on how Spider-Man first appeared three years ago, and gently lifted the injured arm. The mini Spider-Man yanked his arm away from the source of discomfort only to jar his arm even more.

"Woah! Well, damn. I was afraid of that. Cap, the kid still has his powers," Clint spoke calmly over the noise. "Could you hold his arm out and still while I inspect the wound?"

"I, uh, yeah. Sure."

The flustered Captain hesitantly forced the small arm up. Spider-Man stopped crying and started hyperventilating instead.

"Hey hey hey, kiddo. It's alright. You're going to be okay, you hear me? Just…"

The panicked, teary eyes looking at Clint rolled back and fluttered shut and the kid fell limp against Steve.

"…breathe."

* * *

Peter scrunched his eyes as he slowly regained consciousness. He wasn't in his new bed that smelled like musty old blankets or his old bed that didn't smell like anything at all. This bed smelled like a hospital bed. He knew what those smelled like because Aunt May had fallen and hit her head not too long ago and she had to stay at the hospital for a while. He and Uncle Ben stayed with her most of the time. He liked the doctors, they were really smart and knew what to do for his aunt. At least, Uncle Ben said they did.

He wondered if he had fallen and hit his head too. Wanting to know if he was right, he forced his eyelids open. After some sporadic blinking, Peter inspected the hospital room. He couldn't tell the actual size of it, because there were curtains all around his bed, making a small tent room. A man with blond hair and white T-shirt sat in a chair next to his bed, completely engrossed in a book.

He also discovered that he had not hit his head, but hurt his arm. It was rapped tightly in white bandages. He couldn't be sure why he would need to sleep at the hospital if it had just been his arm that he had hurt; a head injury he could understand, it had an important organ inside of it after all, but his arm only had muscle and bone if he remembered right. Unless he needed lots of stitches and it got infected. His classmate, Joey Sawyer, stayed at the hospital for two whole days because a dog bit him and it got infected and he needed stitches.

He turned his head to look back at the man with the book and blinked a couple of times. The pillow hadn't knocked his glasses askew, but he could see the man clearly. He reached up and brushed his fingers across his nose. He definitely didn't have any glasses on.

"Are you an eye doctor?"

The man jumped and nearly dropped his book.

"Oh, you're awake!"

Peter nodded, still waiting for an answer, while the man closed the book and put it aside.

"How are you feeling? Can you tell me what you remember before you fell asleep?"

"My fingers feel fuzzy and my mouth feels sandy." He examined his right hand as he answered. "Are you the eye doctor?"

The man grabbed a small paper cup of water and handed it to him. "I'm not a doctor. My name is Steve Rogers."

After finishing the ice cold drink that did wonders for his dry mouth, he handed back the cup and didn't lay back down. "Oh."

Mr. Rogers fished something out of his pocket and pushed a button on it.

"Spi-… um, can you tell me what you remember?"

"I remember a lot of things for school and stuff. I don't think I can tell you all of them…"

Mr. Rogers seemed like he didn't know whether to smile or frown for a couple of seconds, before he finally said, "I suppose you're right. How about this, do you remember Spider-Man?"

Peter scrunched up his nose and slowly shook his head. Their attention was diverted from the conversation by the sound a door opening and hurried footsteps approaching. The curtain at the end of the bed drew back and revealed a small blond haired woman in purple scrubs and a stethoscope around her neck.

"Why hello!" She immediately addressed Peter with a winning smile. Peter slightly curled into himself and tucked his head. She toned down the enthusiasm a touch as she said,"it's good to see you awake, kiddo. My name is Dr. Donna Wilks, you can call me Donna, and I am going to be taking care of you today. "

She walked around to the side of the bed that his bandaged arm faced and didn't insist on eye contact, which he appreciated.

"How are you doing, Steve? Have you eaten yet?"

"I'm well, and I ate not too long ago. Thank you for asking, Dr. Wilks."

"That's good to hear."

After an awkward beat of silence Donna suddenly dropped down, so that her chin nearly touched the mattress and she gripped the edge of the bed.

"Psst! Kid!" She whispered comically loud and motioned for him to get closer. "I have a secret to tell you!"

Against Peter's will, a smile pulled at his mouth. Curiosity getting the better of him, he leaned in to hear the secret.

"That man over there?" She pointed and leaned in even closer, "is eighty years old."

Mr. Rogers rolled his eyes, but looked slightly amused.

"No, he isn't."

"I'm telling the truth! He really is!"

"He doesn't have any wrinkles," Peter pointed out the flaw in her belief.

"That's why it's a secret, because he doesn't look like an eighty year old."

He didn't know how to argue against that, but Peter still wasn't buying it.

"Are you really eighty years old?"

"Um, sort of." He winced. "I was born about eighty years ago."

Peter scrunched up his nose again. "Then why don't you have wrinkles?"

"That," Donna interrupted, standing back up, "is a long story for later. Right now, I need to give you a check up and give you new bandages, alright?"

Peter nodded and she clapped her hands together.

"Wonderful! But first I'm going to have to ask that you do not tell me your name."

Peter blinked at the odd request. "Why not?"

"Because!" She squat back down. "I am on a super secret mission! And the less I know the better. That way if the bad guys catch me and make me tell them everything, I won't know a lot."

"But you know Mr. Rogers name."

"This is true…"She paused for a moment. "But! The bad guys already know Mr. Rogers name, but they don't know yours. That's why I can know his name."

"Oooh," Peter admired the cleverness of it all.

"Now that that's all cleared up, let's get started."

From there Donna did a lot of doctor things, like checking his heart, looking in his ears, and his eyes, and she asked lots of questions. Mr. Rogers asked some of his own questions, but he usually sat quietly with the same face Uncle Ben got when he was thinking through problems.

Donna held his wrist as she unwound the bandages, telling him it was okay if he didn't feel well after seeing his arm, but to let her know if he did. While unwrapping his arm, she accidentally bumped it and an uncomfortable cold pain made him flinch back and easily pull away from her grip. For a moment, she froze, staring wide eyed at him. But she quickly moved on with a smile.

"Sorry about that, kid. Um, Steve? Would you mind holding his arm out for me? I would like to use both hands so I don't bump his arm again."

Mr. Rogers nodded like he completely understood and quickly came around the bed. Donna started again when Mr. Rogers held his arm up again.

"Now kiddo," she started seriously, "I'm going to put a special medicine on your arm to make it numb. But the problem is that pain is our bodies way of telling us when there's something wrong, like a fire alarm. I'm going to be taking away your arm's alarm, so it can't warn you when something is wrong. That means we're going to have to put it in a sling and you are going to have to be extra careful when you're playing, so you don't hurt it, okay?"

"Yes, ma'am." He hadn't seen her be so serious, so he knew she really meant it.

The injury on his arm didn't look that bad. It was just two small cuts on either side of his arm that had a few small stitches keeping them closed.

"What happened, did I fall down?" He asked the doctor.

Mr. Rogers immediately looked uncomfortable, but Donna just answered with a small shrug, "you just got poked a little too hard with a knife. That's all."

"Oh. I don't remember that." But he supposed that was normal, Aunt May didn't remember falling down.

Donna applied the cold cream and rewrapped his arm and put him in a sling, or a hammock for his arm is how she described it. He liked that way of looking at it. After she had finished she gave him a smiley face sticker, and gave Steve lots of instructions. Then she said she would be back in a couple of days and left.

"Well, um… kid, do you want to go upstairs and get something to eat?" Mr. Rogers asked. Scratching his ear he mumbled to himself, "and maybe we can find Clint."

Peter agreed that food was a good idea. Mr. Rogers helped him out of the arm hammock and handed him a bundle of clothes that definitely were not his, then stepped outside the curtains to give him privacy.

He carefully, as to not hurt his arm even if he couldn't feel it, put on a brand new pair of underwear, a very comfortable pair of jeans, and a red shirt that had "My favorite superhero is Iron Man" on it in gold lettering. He stuck his sticker in his back pocket.

Coming out from behind the curtain, Peter asked, "can I tell you my name, or are you on a secret mission too?"

Again, Mr. Rogers looked very uncomfortable with his question.

"How about we check with my team first? Then we'll see."

While he spoke, Mr. Rogers helped him back into the arm hammock. Then he lead the way to an elevator on the far side of the room. The room had lots of beds, just like his, but with their curtains pulled back. Peter looked back at his bed to see that it was the only one with the curtains surrounding it.

"Is your team on a secret mission, Mr. Rogers?"

"Well, we are on a mission, but I'm not sure if it's secret or not."

"Oh. Why not?" Peter looked up into confused bright blue eyes as they waited for the elevator.

"I'm… I'm just not sure yet. I have to discuss it with my team."

"Oh."

They got into the elevator and Peter pulled his sticker out again, wondering where he could put it. Aunt May says he's not allowed to put it on his clothes, because if it gets left on there it will leave sticky spots. Putting it on his skin was a bad idea; while it was fun to have it on his skin, it always fell off way too soon and lost it's stickiness. He could put it on his window when he got home. But which window should he put it on? His new one, or should he wait until he went back to his old one?

The elevator doors opened, pulling Peter out of his thoughts. He and Mr. Rogers walked into a big room with tall windows covering the whole wall, showing a high view of Manhattan. A lady with long orange hair sat on one of the black couches with a screen in her hands.

"Where did the hospital go?" Peter asked Mr. Rogers.

Mr. Rogers again, looked like he didn't know how to answer.

"Is that…?" The lady didn't finish the question and stared at Peter wide eyed.

"Pepper, I told Tony not to tell anyone."

"I kind of thought so after he told me." The lady stopped staring and stood up. "When I asked, he said that your words were 'do not tell a soul', then stated that because of my hair that I had no soul. Please, feel free to chew him out as well."

Mr. Rogers pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, "damn it, Tony."

Peter took a step back as the lady approached.

"Hi there, my name is Pepper. Are you feeling alright?"

He nodded, even though he would still like to know what happened to the hospital.

"That's good. Well, I'm going to get out of your way and find you a new shirt. I don't like that one." With that she stepped into the elevator and left.

Looking up at Mr. Rogers, Peter asked, "why doesn't she like my shirt?"

"She just isn't that fond of Iron Man right now. Let's go find something to eat."

In the kitchen, Mr. Rogers searched the fridge and cupboards, while Peter sat on a tall stool next to the counter that he hadn't been able to climb onto by himself with his arm in the hammock.

"Mr. Rogers, what are you looking for?"

The man stopped, then sighed, "honestly, I have no idea. What do you want to eat? A sandwich?"

"Do you have mac 'n' cheese?"

Mr. Rogers opened his mouth to say 'no', but was interrupted by another man walking in with arms full of grocery bags, saying, "I do! I also have jello, and pb and j ingredients, and hot dog ingredients. You like hot dogs right, kid? I seem to remember you saying that at one point." The man unloaded the bags on the counter. "I also have cereal, but you said you were hungry for macaroni and cheese. So let's get that going. Cap," he called Mr. Rogers and tossed him the box of noodles.

"You are a life saver, Clint."

"I know, don't mention it." Mr. Clint plopped down on the stool next to Peter. "So, what's the status?"

"Bruce, Tony, and Vision still haven't made much progress. They are saying it's way out of any of their areas of expertise, and that it might take some time before they figure anything out. Nat said she was going to look into other people that may be able to help or get into contact with the Fantastic four. And…" Mr. Rogers hesitated, "he doesn't remember anything. It might take longer than a week, Clint."

"We got this, Cap. Don't worry about it."

Mr. Rogers sent him a dry, disbelieving look before turning on the stovetop.

"So, little man," Mr. Clint turned to face him, "how is your arm doing? Did Dr. Wilks get you patched up okay?"

"She did a good job and she gave me a smile sticker. It's in my pocket. I'm going to put it on my window when I go home… I don't know which window though…."

"That's super cool, little man, I'm sure you'll figure it out."

Peter didn't hear him, he became completely lost in thought for a few moments.

"Mr. Clint?" Peter looked at the kind man next to him.

"What's up, kid?"

"What happened to the hospital?"

Mr. Clint furrowed his eyebrows and stole a quick glance at Mr. Rogers.

"I don't think I know what you're talking about."

Peter glanced over at Mr. Rogers too; he had been there, he could probably explain, but he looked super busy with the mac 'n' cheese.

"We were at the hospital with Donna, but then Mr. Rogers and I got in the elevator, and when we got off, the hospital was gone."

"Oooooh!" Mr. Clint drew out the exclamation like he had solved a big mystery. "I get the confusion! You and Steve weren't in a hospital, you were in the med bay. It's like a mini hospital inside the tower. That way when one of us gets hurt, we don't have to go all the way to the hospital."

"Oh." He guessed that made sense. But he was still confused. "Is the med bay for Mr. Rogers' team?"

"Yep. And others, like you."

"Are you a part of Mr. Rogers team?"

"Yessir," he answered happily.

"Mr. Rogers said you had things to discuss," Peter informed, matter of factly. "Are you going to have a team meeting?"

Mr. Clint barked out a laugh, "I would think so. Mr. Rogers loves meetings."

The man at the stove sent a scowl over his shoulder, but otherwise continued cooking.

"Well, kid, since you got to ask a lot of questions, I think I should have a turn."

"I only asked you four questions."

Mr. Clint blinked a couple of times then smiled. "Nice counting skills, little man! How about this, you get four questions and I get five, because I am a grown up."

Peter looked up at the man, eyes wide and brow scrunched. When Mr. Clint's grin widened in mischievous victory, Peter protested, "no! That's not fair!"

He wanted to stand on his stool to at least be eye level be with Mr. Clint, but standing on the furniture might get him sent to the corner, and that would be counter productive.

"I'm the adult, I make the rules."

"Oh yeah? Well, you already asked me two questions, so you only have three left!" He crossed his arms for emphasis.

This time Mr. Rogers laughed, "he's got you there, Clint."

Feeling empowered by the support, Peter smugly stated, "I'm only answering three questions."

Mr. Clint chuckled. "You know, I wasn't seeing it before, with all the talk about stickers and fainting at the sight of your own blood. But no, there you are, ya clever son of agun."

Before any of what he said could sink in, Mr. Clint rubbed his hands together and continued, "alright! Three questions. First question: how old are you?"

"Five and a quarter."

"Awesome. Second question: what do you like to do for fun, or what do you like to play with?"

This question required a little more thought. Habitually, Peter brushed his fingers up the bridge of his nose while he considered his answer.

"I like to read books, and play with my robot toy."

Giving a nod of understanding or maybe agreement, Clint thought over the information.

Then he asked, "last question: what is your first name?"

"Clint, maybe we shouldn't…" the man cooking lunch turned around, no longer tending to the heating water.

Peter had almost forgotten the secret mission!

"I understand that, Cap," Mr. Clint called him a hat again and put his elbows on the counter, "but I'm going to say that it's awfully hard to make friends when no one knows your name, and trust me, we will want to be this kid's friends. Besides, I don't think a first name will do too much harm."

"I disagree with that. It's a name, an age, and a face, that's a lot more information than he was willing to give for good reasons."

Confused, Peter's hand went up to touch his face, which somehow caught both of the adults' attention.

Mr. Clint continued somewhat cautiously, "again, I understand. But I will personally seek out anyone who uses this time of need to gain information and make their life a living hell, particularly Tony, and this circumstance is unusual for everyone." He emphasized the everyone, as if he meant someone in particular. Peter had a feeling he knew who that was. "It's best we make sure things are as comfortable as possible to elevate some of the stress, trust me."

An uncomfortable feeling wiggled it's way into Peter's gut, one that made him wish for one of Aunt May's hugs. Thankfully, a distraction from the feeling made itself known.

"May I use the toilet?" He was much too old to be using words like 'potty'.

"You sure can, little man. There is one right outside the door way to the right." Mr. Clint stretched his arm out towards the door and pointed his hand to the right.

"Shouldn't we go with him?" Mr. Rodgers asked uncertainly.

"Naw, little man's got it. Just call us if you need help. Having your arm in a sling can make things difficult."

Peter nodded an affirmative, but immediately ran into his first problem.

"Can you help me down?"

Mr. Clint looked down at the floor, and then back up at Peter. "It's not that far down… I'm sure you can do it."

Chocolate brown eyes glanced at the floor as well, worry scrunching his eyebrows together. Unbeknownst to Peter, both adults shared bewildered expressions at his nervousness. Peter fidgeted on top of the stool, then looked up at Mr. Rogers for help. He had been willing to help him up. Mr. Clint snorted behind him and started coughing when Mr. Rogers glared at him. The blonde man easily lifted Peter of the stool and he hurriedly left the kitchen.

"Clint, I'm not understanding why you think we need to know his name," Steve invited explanation as he poured the noodles into the rolling water.

"You said it yourself, he could be stuck like this for a more than a week. From what I've seen and what you told me, he is exactly as he was 'thirteen point five years ago', besides his powers. That means we are going to have to care for a five year old, who doesn't know us, for a week. The kid is going to want to go home at some point, I'm actually surprised he hasn't asked about his parents yet. But we can't let him see his parents or go home, if we want to keep his identity intact. So, we will more than likely be keeping a super-powered kid away from his parents for who knows exactly how long. In my mind, we need to gain as much trust as we can from the kid."

Clint could tell the Captain was carefully considering his point as he slowly stirred the pot.

"You're right, knowing his name will probably help." He finally relented with a small sigh. "But until we have a meeting, we should keep it on a need to know bases. So, for now, just you and me. I'll definitely need to talk to Tony before we give him that information."

"That I can agree with." Clint grabbed one of the jello cups out of the grocery back and peeled it open. "Besides, the way I see it, it was totally the spider kid's fault for getting himself into this situation. Any negative repercussions of us helping him out is on him. I mean, we could just hand him over to SHEILD and let them handle this -which they wouldn't let the opportunity pass them by without gathering every bit of information they could- and just be done with it. But I know you're not going to do that, so the kid can just be grateful whatever the outcome."

They sat in contemplative silence, Clint enjoying the contents of his jello cup, while Steve absentmindedly stirred the noodles.

"You know," Clint started, intently watching the red jello on his spoon jiggle before he popped it into his mouth with a sly smile. "I never knew boiling water required so much attention…"

"Clint."

"Are you, the Captain of America, war hero of legends, scared of interacting with a kid?"

"It's more complicated than that."

"Is it?" Asked Clint, before he took the last bit of his jello.

He didn't get an answer as Peter padded back into the kitchen. Steve carefully lifted Peter back onto the stool and let him know, "the macaroni and cheese is nearly done."

Peter just nodded. His thoughts elsewhere, he brushed his fingers up the bridge of his nose only to be surprised again by the absence of his glasses.

"Mr. Clint?"

"Yeah?"

"Is Dr. Donna a eye doctor?"

Clint tossed the empty jello cup across the room into the trash can. "No, why do you ask?"

"I'm…" Distracted by the behavior that Aunt May would admonish coming from an adult, Peter momentarily forgot what he was wondering about. "I'm not wearing my glasses."

"Oh? Do you need them?"

"Nothing is blurry…"

"Well, that's good."

"But, why are my eyes better?"

"Maybe you out grew your glasses."

"That's not how it works…"

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah, my corneas aren't shaped right, so they bend the light wrong. My glasses bend the light the right way for my eyes so nothing is blurry. That's what my dad said."

"Then I have no idea, little man."

Peter huffed a sigh, losing a littlest bit of respect for the man that throws jello cups across the room and doesn't know the answers to important questions. Mr. Rodgers placed a large bowl of mac'n'cheese and a plastic cup of water on the counter.

"Careful, it's still hot."

Peter's stomach grumbled at the tantalizing aroma in front of him.

"Thank you, Mr. Rodgers."

"You're welcome, Sport."

Peters head snapped up at the familiar nick name, but moved on with a warm smile and dug into the meal.

Mr. Clint stood up, strumming the counter as he did so.

"And now, I must bid you both farewell. I have business to attend to and tenants to appease. You two have a swell time together," he said as walked backwards out the door. "I will see you, at that team meeting. Later!"

"Wait, Clint!"

"Just stick in a movie Mr. Rodgers and keep an eye on him. You'll be fine!"

Mr. Rodgers stared at the empty door way for an uncertain second, but looked back at the boy when he said,

"Don't worry, Mr. Rodgers. Uncle Ben and Aunt May worry about not being able to take care of me too, but they do a good job."

Mr. Rodgers dropped his head, letting out a short laugh.

"Is that so?" He asked as he looked back up.

Peter just nodded as he took another bite of food. He continued to eat while Mr. Rogers cleaned up after cooking. By the time Peter was halfway done, Mr. Rodgers had finished and sat down with him.

"So, Clint and I talked. We think it's safe for me and him to know your name. Would you like to share it?"

"Peter." He answered simply between bites.

"It's nice to meet you, Peter."

Steve received a condescending confused glance for the formality and nothing more.

"Well Peter, would you like to watch a movie after you've finished your food?"

"Okay," he agreed between bites.

* * *

"Alright Sport, what would you like to watch?" Mr. Rogers asked, taking a seat on the black couch.

Peter shrugged. "What do you have?"

"You know, I'm not sure." Mr. Rogers looked up at the ceiling. "Jarvis, what kid movies do you have?"

"I am capable of accessing any movie you request, Captain." The ceiling answered.

Peter jumped up, forgetting to not stand on the couch and searched for the source of the voice. "Who said that?"

Mr. Rogers chuckled, "I'm sorry, Peter. Jarvis, would you introduce yourself to Peter?"

"Of course, Captain. Hello Peter, I am Jarvis, Just A Rather Very Intelligent System, Tony Stark's AI. It is a pleasure to meet you."

Peter gapped at the ceiling. "You're a computer?"

"In a sense, yes, sir."

Peter dropped down on his knees and put his elbows on the back of the couch. "Can you answer questions?"

"That is one of my many functions, sir," the voice replied.

"What's pi?"

"Three point one four nine two-"

The more numbers the AI listed the wider the grin on Peter's face spread. Steve looked at the kid questioningly, wondering if he should bring his attention back to finding a movie to watch or let him talk to Jarvis.

"Jarvis!" Peter interrupted.

"Yes, sir?"

"Why does a sticker lose it's sticky when you put it on your skin?"

Steve chuckled, deciding to let him be. He listened to the kid ask rapid fire questions at the AI, who answered every single one, learning a fair bit himself about thing he would have never considered asking about.

Forty-five minutes later, Peter knelt in the same position against the back of the couch, while Steve read from his book. In the middle of Jarvis's explanation as to how glass is made, Pepper stepped out of the elevator holding a handful of shirts and a large bag.

Steve stood to greet her, while Peter didn't even notice her arrival, paying rapt attention to Jarvis.

"What is he doing?" Pepper whispered, looking at the boy.

"Asking Jarvis random questions. He's been at it for almost an hour."

When Jarvis finished his explanation, Steve quickly called for Peter's attention, before he could ask another.

"Hey, Sport, Pepper has brought you some shirts. Would you like to see them?"

Peter blushed a light pink and nodded. He slid off the couch and shuffled over with his head tucked.

Pepper squat down at his eye level and smiled. "Hi sweetie, are you okay?"

Nodding, Peter scuffed the carpet with his foot. "You're really pretty, Miss Pepper."

"Oh my god, you're so cute! Thank you, sweetheart. Here let me show you what I've got."

Peter looked up smiling bashfully. "Okay."

She held up a few blue ones, and green ones, some with stripes, others with pockets, and a tan one with buttons all the way up.

Peter frowned at the stack.

"Why are there so many?" He asked.

Pepper frowned too, not entirely sure what the problem was. "I though you might like more options, is all."

"Oh." Peter still looked uneasy as he picked up a plain blue one with a pocket.

Pepper looked up at Steve curiously, and he shrugged, uncertain of the cause in the change of attitude himself.

"I also got you this!" She set the large bag down and pulled out train set with building blocks.

Peter's frown deepened. "Thank you."

She set the box down in front of him, and he brushed his hand lightly over the top, reading the colorful words with disinterest.

"I can get you something else, if you prefer, Sweetie."

Peter shook his head. "No thank you. I'll play with this."

"If you're sure. I've got to get back to it." Pepper gave him a smile and stood up. "Bye Steve."

"See you later, Pepper."

Peter didn't look up from the box as Pepper left. sat down on the ground next to him.

"Are you alright there, Peter?"

"Am I here because of the secret mission?"

Mr. Rogers blinked, then smiled a little sadly. "Yeah, you're here because of the secret mission."

Peter sat down too, pulling the box onto his lap. He traced his finger along the edges of the pictures on the box.

"Am I staying here?"

"For the time being." Mr. Rogers answered truthfully.

"Until the mission's over?" Peter's finger went through the thick cardboard.

"Yeah, when the mission is over, you'll go home."

Peter poked another hole, right through the smiling child's nose on the box. He looked up at Steve, blank faced.

"When will the mission be over?"

Steve sighed. "I'm not sure, Sport. Soon, hopefully."

Peter nodded. "Can we watch a movie now?"

"Sure, what would you like to watch?"

"The Captain America movie."

Mr. Rogers blinked. And blinked some more. "Excuse me?"

"The Captain America movie. It's black and white, but I like it. Uncle Ben showed me it."

Peter stood up and shuffled over to the couch. With a little extra effort because of the sling, he climbed up onto the couch and grabbed one of the pillows to hug.

"Jarvis?" Peter asked the ceiling.

"Yes, sir?"

"Can you play the Captain America movie? The black and white one?"

Mr. Rogers got up stiffly and sat next to Peter.

"There are nine movies fitting your description, sir. Which one would you like me to play?"

The tv screen flicked on, slowly scrolling through different movie covers and titles. Peter watched the screen intently, reading the titles as they went by.

"That one!" He pointed.

The one he pointed at magnified on the screen.

"Is this the one you are referring to?"

Peter nodded, "hmmhmm."

A loading sign flashed across the screen, but it was gone as fast as it appeared. The lights in the room dimmed, and Peter slumped down, getting comfortable.

"You look like him, Mr. Rogers. And you have the same name. Are you related to him?" Peter asked, glancing up at him from the screen.

"Uh, yeah, Sport. In a way." Mr. Rogers scratched his chin.

"Oh."

Peter watched the old documentary, content and quiet, snuggling with the soft round pillow.

Near the end of the documentary, at the part showing the Captains funeral, Peter yawned.

"Uncle Ben says he's a hero, but not because of his powers," he mumbled as the narrator explained what Captain America's sacrifice did for the world and the impact it had.

"Oh?" Mr. Rogers prodded, sounding slightly congested, and like he was amused with Peter's tired words.

"Yeah, he says that the Captain is a hero, because he had the power to help people, and he did."

"With great power, comes responsibility," Mr. Rogers whispered, in slight awe.

Peter lifted his head off of his pillow and scrunched his nose at Mr. Rogers. "How do you know that?"

Mr. Rogers chuckled and ruffled his hair. "A very wise man told me that once. Said it was his motto."

"Oh." Peter still looked a little confused as he lay back down.

By the end of the credits, Peter was fast asleep.

* * *

 **Hi!**

 **This was originally written for me, myself, and I. But then I thought, why not share it?**

 **This is litterally all I have written for this story. I plan to maybe update. But I've got other stories that are priority. Basicallly, this is the story I go to when I'm stuck on other stories. Sorry, for any grammor stuff. This one hasn't really been edited at all.**

 **Peter is my boy. I love him.**


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